Don't worry, we didn't claim that Milo had a deviated septum and then get him the Jennifer Grey treatment (or the Joel Grey treatment, for that matter). He was born with two skin tags, little lumps of epithelial cells, one on his ear and one on his cheek; the one on his cheek, in particular, was the sort of thing that made children ask, "What is that thing?" and made adults want to ask but refrain from asking. Ben and I named them Cheech and Chong. We had our appointment with the pediatric plastic surgeon today, who wore "Mad Men" style 1960's glasses into which he awesomely inserted microscopic goggles during the procedure. First, the doctor had me hold Milo still while he stuck a sort of obscenely long needle into the skin around both tags to numb them. This was the worst part of the whole thing, and the kid cried for about a minute. Then, he was swaddled and they shone a bright light on him. The nurse held his head to the side, and Ben held his torso still like he was some sort of insane meth addict instead of a four-plus week old, and the doctor did his cutty-snippy-stitchy thing, during which Milo promptly fell asleep, feeling cozy and warm as though he were on some sort of weird baby tanning bed. After putting a couple of dissolvable stitches in each spot,
the doctor put superglue on our baby's face. That's right. The glue ostensibly not only holds the bandages in place, but helps the skin heal over more smoothly. It makes me think of the Krazy Glue commercial from 1980's, and I imagine a construction worker attaching his hard hat to Milo's face. God forbid. Anyhow, now Milo's shana punim is silky smooth, and I think we're done cutting things off of the poor kid for now,
IYKWIMAITYD.
P.S. Two sights of interest this week, and you judge whether or not they're related: 1) a young, blind albino woman with a cane walking confidently in a rainstorm and 2) a sighted teenage girl, walking while texting, who tripped and pitched straight into a telephone pole.
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